"Did it work?" Valentina’s crush asked.
"Barely."
That got a few more laughs.
Ms. Bautista nodded toward the stage. "He's going to help us with this year's winter and spring shows, which means you'll be seeing him a lot."
The boy with the pencil raised his hand without removing it from his lip.
Ms. Bautista sighed. "Yes, Trevor."
The pencil dropped. "Does he sing?"
Fernando blinked. "Uh… not well. I usually stay backhouse." Gigi and Nolan were the ones who liked acting, singing, and dancing. Well, he liked it, but wasn’t exactly great at it.
Trevor leaned back in his seat. "Good. Less competition."
A girl with a script grinned. "We'll make him sing by February."
Fernando looked at Ms. Bautista. "Is that… a thing that happens?"
"Oh, absolutely," she said cheerfully.
The students started murmuring again, but this time with curious energy.
Ms. Bautista clapped once more.
"Alright. Welcome Mr. Medina properly by not scaring him off on day one."
Trevor raised his hand again.
"No more questions," she said.
Trevor lowered it slowly.
"I wasgonna ask if he believed in ghosts," the boy muttered.
Ms. Bautista groaned.
Fernando glanced up toward the dark catwalks above the stage. "Should I?" he asked.
Half the theater kids immediately started talking at once.
Chapter 19
Six months later
The living roomsmelled faintly like lavender and microwave popcorn. Fernando sat in the middle of the couch with a blanket tucked around his legs, feeling both amused and slightly overwhelmed. His eight-month-pregnant belly stretched the soft fabric of his T-shirt, and a mountain of pillows had somehow appeared around him. Iggy sat cuddled on one side of him, and Emma sat on the other.Wickedplayed on television.
“I feel like royalty,” he said.
“You are royalty,” Mateo replied from the kitchen. He carried a tray with a bowl of cut fruit, crackers, and a suspiciously large slice of chocolate cake. “The King of Babyland.”
Fernando laughed. “That’s not a real place. Damn, you’re so cheesy. I think I’m infected with it now, too.”
“Babyland is real today,” Mateo said, setting the tray in front of him like a waiter in a fancy restaurant. “Your Majesty’s lunch.”
In front of the couch, Valentina sat cross-legged on the floor with a bottle of black nail polish. “Don’t move your feet,” she warned. “I don’t want to accidentally paint your foot.”
